Posts Tagged ‘Shawn Phillips’

A Baker’s Dozen For The Heartstrings

July 27, 2011

Originally posted August 6, 2008

Boy, I gotta pay attention to what I write.

I was wandering through the cyberattic last evening, seeing if any of last spring’s posts needed reviewal or brought up something more to write about. And I found a post in which I listed my three favorite singles.

They were “Summer Rain,” a 1967 single by Johnny Rivers, “We” from Shawn Phillips, released in 1972 , and “Long, Long Time,” Linda Ronstadt’s 1970 minor hit. That was on May 24.

Then, less than three weeks ago, I offered up the Association’s “Cherish” as the perfect pop-rock single.

Now, there may be a difference between a favorite single and “perfect” single, but it would be slight. What the comparison between the two posts means is that I’ve been in the process of refining my views, and when reminded of another possibility – or when recalling something I’ve forgotten for a short time – I can modify my views. For some reason, when I was writing the May post headed by “Summer Rain” – sparked by a discussion at a bulletin board – I didn’t think about “Cherish.”

Why? Because I forgot about it. I wrote the bulletin board post that sparked my post here off the top of my head, and the Association record slipped my mind. But as I look at the four songs in question – the three from the May post and “Cherish,” I realize that they all do come from a list I did put together some time ago, a list of songs guaranteed to tug at my heart. They don’t all have memories of young women attached to them, although some of them do. But every one of them – when it pops up on the radio or the RealPlayer – will make me slow down for a moment or two, during which the bartender of my soul serves me a cup of bittersweet wine.

So, after excluding “Cherish,” and Bob Dylan’s “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go,” as I posted both here fairly recently, here are the thirteen best songs remaining on that list:

A Baker’s Dozen for the Heartstrings
“I’m Gonna Make You Love Me” by the Supremes & the Temptations, Motown single 1137, 1968

“Summer Rain” by Johnny Rivers, Imperial single 66267, 1967

“It Don’t Matter To Me” by Bread, Elektra single 45701, 1970

“Long, Long Time” by Linda Ronstadt, Capitol single 2846, 1970

“Hey Tomorrow” by Jim Croce from You Don’t Mess Around With Jim, 1972

“I Honestly Love You” by Olivia Newton-John, MCA single 40280, 1974

“Turn Around, Look At Me” by the Vogues, Reprise single 0686, 1968

“We May Never Pass This Way (Again)” by Seal & Crofts, Warner Bros. single 7740, 1973

“We” by Shawn Phillips, A&M single 1402, 1972

“All That Heaven Will Allow” by Bruce Springsteen from Tunnel of Love, 1987

“Sentimental Lady” by Fleetwood Mac from Bare Trees, 1972

“Cobwebs and Dust” by Gordon Lightfoot from If You Could Read My Mind, 1970

“Four Strong Winds” by Neil Young from Comes A Time, 1978

A few notes:

Most of these, I acknowledge, are pop or singer-songwriter stuff, pretty mellow tunes for soul-searching in the dark hours, but the opener, well, even when the performers at Motown were baring their souls, they did so with a groove. The opening drums (has to be Benny Benjamin, I think) and then the low horns, followed by the horn chorus, well, all I can still say, forty years after I first heard it, is wow! My reference books are all packed away, or I’d credit the producer. I may be wrong, but it doesn’t sound light enough for a Smokey Robinson session. Maybe Holland-Dozier-Holland, or possibly even Berry Gordy himself. Anyone out there know? Whoever did it, they got it right.*

Bread recorded “It Don’t Matter To Me” twice. The first version, on the group’s first, self-titled album in 1969, sounds flatter than the single version that was released a year later. That’s likely recording technique instead of performance, and my preference for the single instead of the album track is likely based on familiarity, but the single version does seem the better of the two.

I expect a summons from the Taste Police – a term I’ve borrowed from fellow blogger Any Major Dude – regarding the Newton-John selection. Well, I’m guilty! Cuff me and lead me away! Make me listen to Ambrosia and Air Supply! “I Honestly Love You” is a good song (Peter Allen’s work) and a good recording. And I think it’s by far the best thing Newton-John has recorded in a long and indifferent career.

All of these have lyrics designed to make one sigh or worse, but the best lyric here might be “All That Heaven Will Allow,” with Springsteen’s working man taking us through three uses of the title phrase with three different meanings. A neat trick, and the Boss makes us believe it.

Fleetwood Mac should have had a hit with “Sentimental Lady” when Bare Trees came out in 1972. As it turned out, a remake by writer Bob Welch reached No. 8 in 1977, but the original is by far the better version of the song.

*As it happens, “I’m Gonna Make You Love Me” was not produced by any of those luminaries I mentioned, but by Frank Wilson, about whom I know nothing. Note added and post revised slightly July 27, 2011.

A Friday Walk Through The Junkyard

June 18, 2011

Originally posted March 14, 2008

My to-do list has gotten longer as the week has progressed. Tomorrow is the annual tabletop hockey competition here, and I have much left to accomplish. I do have some interesting albums to rip: I’ve gotten five fairly rare albums in the mail in recent weeks, with another – the Blue Rose album I mentioned Wednesday – on the way.

But time is short today, so instead of trying to rush one of those albums along and botching it, I thought I’d take one of my regular random walks through the junkyard and see what we find from the years 1951-2000.

“Fridgidaire Woman” by Son Seals from Living In The Danger Zone, 1991

“Screamer for Phlyses” by Shawn Phillips from Contribution, 1970

“Mack the Knife” by Bobby Darin, Atco single 6147, 1959

“Sad, Sad Day” by Muddy Waters from King Bee, 1981

“Corrina” by King Biscuit Boy with Crowbar from Official Music, 1970

“Wild Horses” by Leon Russell from Stop All That Jazz, 1974

“Little Girl” by Redbone from Redbone, 1970

“Pleasure” by the Peanut Butter Conspiracy from The Great Conspiracy, 1968

“Make Love To You” by the Stills-Young Band from Long May You Run, 1976

“The Working Man” by Creedence Clearwater Revival from Creedence Clearwater Revival, 1968

“Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves” by the Eurythmics & Aretha Franklin, RCA single 14214, 1985

“Let Your Lovelight Shine” by the Buddy Miles Express from Expressway To Your Skull, 1968

“Don’t Make Promises” by the Beau Brummels, Warner Bros. single 7014, 1967

“Heavy Church” by Three Dog Night from Naturally, 1970

“Feels So Good” by Chuck Mangione from Feels So Good, 1977

A few notes:

Every three years or so from 1973 through 2000, blues fans could count on a release from Son Seals, an Arkansas-born blues guitarist discovered in a Chicago nightspot by Alligator Records owner Bruce Iglauer. “Frigidaire Woman” comes from Living In The Danger Zone, which, in terms of quality, falls right in the middle of Seals’ nine-album series of works. Seals – who died in 2003 – never made a bad album; his best was most likely Midnight Son from 1976.

I heard “Mack the Knife” the other day as I pulled into the supermarket a parking lot. I waited to leave the car until the song ended, thinking, “I need to get that song into the blog,” and now, the universe has done that for me. The song originated in The Threepenny Opera, a 1928 piece of musical theater by writer Bertolt Brecht and composer Kurt Weill. The story of Macheath and his murderous ways was eventually translated to film in the 1950s and continues to be presented on occasion as live theater. Darin’s swinging version of the show’s opening number contrasts greatly with the staid and stiff version I heard when I listened to a recording of the opera. Louis Armstrong recorded a similar version of the tune, but it was Darin’s version that was the hit, going to No. 1 for nine weeks in the autumn of 1959. (Darin’s version – as did Armstrong’s before it – name-checks “Miss Lotte Lenya” during the final verses. In the mid- to late Sixties, when I heard the song, I was confused, as I knew Lotte Lenya only as the haggard and unappealing actress who’d played Soviet agent Rosa Klebb in the James Bond film, From Russia With Love. It wasn’t until years later that I learned that Lotte Lenya had been Kurt Weill’s wife, had acted in various stagings of The Threepenny Opera and had earned a Tony award for one of them, in the mid-1950s.)

King Bee, produced by Johnny Winter, was – from what I can tell – the last album in the long career of Muddy Waters. For the most part, the album is new versions of Waters’ work on the Chess label (including “Sad, Sad Day”), but the album is still a pretty good way to spend some time.

The Peanut Butter Conspiracy was a Los Angeles-based psychedelic band, and The Great Conspiracy was the group’s second album. Some of the songs on the record stretch out a little into some trippy mid-Sixties noodling and jamming. “Pleasure” isn’t one of those; it’s a fairly concise song that’s typical of second-level psychedelic pop rock. Good for what it is.

Pretty much right from the start, Creedence Clearwater Revival was a great band. The misfortune that John Fogerty and his bandmates had to face was that, at the time, bands that recorded long, trippy songs full of obscure allusions sold lots of records and were taken seriously, while bands that recorded good three-minute singles were relegated to a less-serious room, kind of like eating at the kids’ table on Thanksgiving. But listening to CCR’s records today, even the stuff that wasn’t released as singles has aged an awful lot better than the work of a lot of those groups that were taken so seriously four decades ago. (Yeah, CCR stretched out sometimes, as on its version of “Suzy Q.” and “I Heard It Through The Grapevine.” But those are the group’s less successful efforts, I think; the group’s strength was the three-minute single, and CCR did that about as well as anyone ever has. My favorite happens to be “Green River.”)

I think the 1985 collaboration between the Eurythmics and Aretha Franklin tends to get lost in the memory of the Eighties as a decade of synths, drum machines and big hair (and the Eighties were all that). But “Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves” truly cooks. And it’s probably Aretha’s last great record.

I mentioned the other day the breadth of writers from which Three Dog Night got its material. “Heavy Church,” a record I’ve always liked a lot, ever since I got Naturally as a Christmas gift in 1971, was written by Alan O’Day, with whom I had a brief correspondence about “Rock & Roll Heaven” a while back. O’Day’s own version showed up on his 1973 album, Caress Me Pretty Music.

Chuck Mangione had a No. 4 hit in early 1978 with a single edit of “Feels So Good.” This is the nine-minute album version.

An Album Forgotten, Now Finally Found

June 11, 2011

Originally posted February 8, 2008

The world is filled with music I’ve always meant to acquire.

And the wonderful – and horribly unfair – thing about that is that musicians keep making more of it all the time, making it an utter impossibility that I’ll ever catch up.

I’ve been aware of being behind for nearly forty years now, since I started taking pop and rock seriously during my junior year of high school, which ended in 1970. By the end of that year, I had the bare beginnings of a record collection and was keeping my eyes and ears open for whatever came next. As I’ve mentioned before, my first collecting project was to obtain everything the Beatles had released, and as 1971 dawned, I had six Beatles albums, one-third of the eighteen that existed in the versions released here in the U.S. by Capitol/Apple and United Artists (which released the American version of the soundtrack to A Hard Day’s Night).

I was also becoming more aware of other things that I liked, other musicians and bands that I enjoyed. Many of them seemed to me better suited to be heard from the speaker of my old radio in my room than from the speakers of the stereo in the rec room. I was beginning to realize, in other words, that not all of the music I liked would merit investment in an LP. Some of it was best left to radio or to singles, a medium in which I rarely invested.

Let’s take a look at the Cash Box Top Ten for the first week in 1971 and see which of those singles I ever bought on an LP (by that group or artist; I’m not going to spend hours mucking around in all the K-Tels and Roncos), and when.

The Cash Box Top Ten for January 2, 1971:

“My Sweet Lord” by George Harrison (All Things Must Pass, first purchased in 1981.)

“Knock Three Times” by Dawn (Never purchased.)

“One Less Bell to Answer” by the 5th Dimension (Greatest Hits on Earth, purchased in 2001.)

“Black Magic Woman” by Santana (Abraxas, purchased in 1989.)

“Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?” by Chicago (Chicago Transit Authority, purchased in 1978.)

“Stoned Love” by the Supremes (Never purchased.)

“The Tears of a Clown” by Smokey Robinson & the Miracles (Anthology, purchased 1998.)

“I Think I Love You” by the Partridge Family (Never purchased.)

“No Matter What” by Badfinger (Never purchased.)

“The Immigrant Song” by Led Zeppelin (Led Zeppelin III, purchased 1999.)

(I’m not going to dig into the CD index, but as to mp3s, I have seven of those ten songs; I do not have the Dawn, 5th Dimension or Supremes songs. The Partridge Family tune? Yes, I have the mp3, and that falls neatly into “guilty pleasures,” a category that JB the DJ discussed this week at The Hits Just Keep On Comin’.)

All in all, that’s not a bad Top Ten. We surely wouldn’t have to look too hard to find a worse Top Ten in that era. But if I wasn’t collecting that music at the time, what was I collecting?

Here’s what the log says I acquired in 1971:

The Beatles (The White Album) by the Beatles
Crosby, Stills & Nash by Crosby, Stills & Nash
“Yesterday” … And Today by the Beatles
Pearl by Janis Joplin
Ram by Paul & Linda McCartney
Stephen Stills by Stephen Stills
Jesus Christ Superstar
Abbey Road by the Beatles
Something New by the Beatles
13 by the Doors
Aqualung by Jethro Tull
Meet the Beatles! by the Beatles
Naturally by Three Dog Night
The Concert for Bangla Desh by George Harrison et al.

Not a bad selection for a new listener in 1971. (Out of those, Stephen Stills, Pearl and Abbey Road remain among my favorite albums. The Jethro Tull has not aged well, to my ears.)

There would have been more on the list except for a bargain I made with my parents in January. Browsing through the records at the local J.C. Penney store, I found a copy of the White Album. Lacking the $9 or so that was the price for the double album, I called home to get a credit card purchase authorized. Okay, said Dad, but no more records until school was out. I agreed, and I came darned close to living up to that agreement. A school group was selling the Crosby, Stills & Nash album as part of a fundraiser during the last days of school, and I bought the record with maybe two days left in the school year.

But, as must be true for any lover of any type of music, there was always music that I wanted to have that never came home. Sometimes that’s through oversight, sometimes through simply never running into the record (or CD) when the cash to invest was available.

One of the records from 1971 I always intended to buy was Shawn Phillips’ Collaboration. Rick and I talked about it when we got wind of its release, and he bought it, so I got to listen to it occasionally, enough to know I liked it but not enough to really know it well. As the Seventies advanced, I saw Rick less and less as our lives diverged. And somewhere along the line, as I began to frequent flea markets and used record shops, I realized that I hadn’t heard Collaboration – or indeed, any Shawn Phillips – for a while. I found a decent copy of Faces, Phillips’ fourth major release, and a slightly scratched copy of Second Contribution, which I believe was his second major label release. But I never found a copy of Collaboration until the mid-1990s, when I came across one at Cheapo’s in south Minneapolis that looked okay. It had a minor bit of hiss in the quiet parts.

No matter, I thought to myself as I listened. When I finally get a CD player, I’ll buy the CD. I was assuming that since most artists’ earlier releases were being remastered and issued on CD, Collaboration would be easy to find.


I have no idea which reissued album is the most difficult to find on CD, but I would bet that Shawn Phillips’ Collaboration – issued in 1999 on the Wounded Bird label – is in the Top Ten. When I wander online through Amazon, it’s rarely available. When a copy of Collaboration is available through the website’s associates, it’s liable to cost $40 or more. A quick look at GEMM this morning finds only one copy of the CD available, but it’s a Russian reprint and, I suspect, a bootleg.

So when I got my USB turntable, one of the first albums I listened to was my copy of Collaboration. The minor hiss on my old stereo turned into major problems when run through the very sensitive software I use to rip LPs. Even the noise removal utility didn’t help without distorting the music. So I went looking and found another LP copy of the album here in town. I laid it on the USB and fired up the software. It was better, but still too hissy in the quiet parts, which abound.

I gave up and figured if I were supposed to have Collaboration in my RealPlayer, it would come to me. And not long ago, I ripped and shared Transcendence, a later Shawn Phillips album, here and at a couple bulletin boards I frequent. I got an email from a colleague at one of the boards, thanking me and asking what it was I was seeking. Collaboration, I wrote back. And soon, I got a link to what I think is a rip from the rare CD, along with permission to share it here.

The album has the same sense as Contribution and Second Contribution: Quiet and sometimes haunting melodies, outstanding musicianship, lyrics that from a distance of more than thirty years can seem forced but are often nevertheless insightful (if clearly rooted in the early 1970s by their attitude), and an overall sound that Phillips fans will love. Some assistance on strings is provided by Paul Buckmaster, who did the same for many of Elton John’s recordings around the same time. I’m not sure it’s quite as good as Second Contribution, but it’s certainly a fine album.

Us We Are
Burning Fingers
For Her
What’s Happenin’ Jim
Times Of A Madman, Trials Of A Thief
8500 Years
The Only Logical Conclusion
Coming Down Soft & Easy

Shawn Phillips – Collaboration [1971]

Shawn Phillips’ Moment In Time

May 25, 2011

Originally posted December 7, 2007

Earlier this week, I mentioned that one of the regular events at St. Cloud State during the late 1960s and early 1970s was an annual performance by guitarist Leo Kottke. The same held true for Shawn Phillips: Once a year for about four or five years, the Texas native would come into town for a concert, either in the acoustically challenged basketball venue Halenbeck Hall or in Stewart Hall auditorium, which seated fewer people but was better suited for musical performances.

Phillips’ annual visit to St. Cloud – coupled with performances at the same time in the Twin Cities – was a reflection of his significant popularity here in the Upper Midwest. I remember reading a pre-concert piece in one of the Twin Cities papers; the piece noted that Phillips drew larger crowds – and sold more records – in Minnesota than he did anywhere else except his home state of Texas. Phillips said that Minnesotans’ devotion to him was a mystery, but it was a welcome mystery, of course.

He came through St. Cloud twice during my first two years of college, and I saw him once, in Halenbeck Hall during my sophomore year. The 8,000-seat gymnasium wasn’t the best place to hear Phillips, whose softer moments require a venue with some acoustic delicacy, but it was nevertheless a pretty good show. By that time – late 1972 or early 1973 – Phillips had four albums of current work to draw a show from: Contribution from 1970, Second Contribution and Collaboration from 1971, and Faces, which was released in 1972 but includes works from 1969. (All-Music Guide lists two albums from the mid-1960s, both described as fairly standard folk music; I’ve heard neither of them.)

I missed Phillips’ concert in Stewart Hall late during my freshman year after being grounded for the first and only time of my life; I was not yet of legal age and had come home from a party very clearly having imbibed too many beers. As a result, I gave my pair of tickets for the show to Rick. Happily, I was able to listen to the concert on the St. Cloud State radio station.

The highlight of both concerts was Phillips’ performance of the opening song from Second Contribution, the haunting ballad colloquially known as “Woman,” as its actual and unwieldy title is “She Was Waiting For Her Mother At The Station In Torino And You Know I Love You Baby But It’s Getting Too Heavy To Laugh.” The song starts nearly a capella, with Phillips’ high tenor voice backed only by what sounds like tympani, and goes on from there to tie together most of the first half of the album.

Listening to the first four albums today is an exercise in time travel, and it’s especially hard for me to critically assess Second Contribution and Faces, as they are very clearly what I call “time-and-place music,” tunes that tie me into the past. The other two – Contribution and Collaboration – have similar qualities but came to me later, and thus provide an opportunity to take a more clear look at Phillips’ early work.

And what do we find? Well, lyrically, all four albums have lots of hippie mysticism and romantic mythology, as well as some nicely crafted love songs with some inventive and intriguing turns of phrase. And there are a few bits of wit and humor along the way. Musically, Phillips’ work is never less than good, and some of the music in those first four albums is simply stunning, aided by Phillips’ astounding vocal range and – on Second Contribution and Collaboration – by string arrangements from Paul Buckmaster, whose credits include work around the same time with Elton John.

It seems as if Phillips’ moment ended not long after the release of Faces in 1972. The remarkable ballad “We,” was released as a single in 1974, but it got little airplay and evidently didn’t make the Cash Box Top 100.* Phillips continued to release albums through the 1970s, but since then, his releases have been sporadic, with the most recent being No Category in 2003.

Of his first four albums of the 1970s, the only one not in print on CD is Collaboration, which commands prices of $80 or more when the CD is available. The other three early 1970s albums are readily available online for standard prices. Phillips’ later work in the 1970s and 1980s seems to be out of print.

I was going to rip Collaboration to share it today, but it’s a relatively quiet album, and both of my vinyl copies have more surface noise than I care for. So I dipped into Phillips’ later 1970s work and found Transcendence from 1978. It’s a pretty good album, of a piece with the rest of his work, although the lyrics don’t seem to stand up as well, especially on the over-earnest “I’m an American Child (On a Nuclear Pile)” Musically, it’s enjoyable with a breath-taking moment or two. (There are some unavoidable bits of noise here and there, but in general, I think the record was in pretty good shape.)

Take It Easy
I’m an American Child (On a Nuclear Pile)
Lady in Violet
Good Evening Madam
Lament Pour L’Enfant Mort
Julia’s Letters/Motes of Dust/Ease Your Mind

Shawn Phillips – Transcendence [1978]

* “We” was actually released as a single in late 1972 or early 1973. It entered the Billboard Hot 100 in mid-January 1973 and went to only No. 89. My belief that the single was released in 1974 was based on its appearance during the autumn of that year in the basement jukebox at St. Cloud State’s Atwood Center. Note added May 25, 2011.

A Baker’s Dozen From 1972

April 18, 2011

Originally posted March 28, 2007

Well, I went back to the twelve remaining songs on my list of love songs and rolled the dice this morning. And we start today’s Baker’s Dozen with “We,” Shawn Phillips’ gorgeous anthem from his 1972 album, Faces. (The song was released as a single in 1974*  but didn’t make a dent in the charts; it’s possible that the only place the single got much play at all was in the jukebox of the student union at St. Cloud State, where my friends and I played it nearly every day.)

From there, we’ve got a pretty representative slice of the year with a few rarities. Nick Drake wasn’t nearly as well known then as he is now, some thirty years after his death. And I don’t think Cold Blood – a San Francisco band with a powerhouse singer, Lydia Pense – was very well known at the time, although all their work is worth seeking out. Manassas, as you likely know, is Stephen Stills and his friends.

The version of “Stage Fright” by The Band is from the live Rock of Ages album, different from, but no better or worse than, the 1971 studio version from the Stage Fright album.

Don’t be put off by the fact that “Hvor Går Du Hen?” is a Danish tune. Sebastian has for years been one of the pre-eminent homegrown musicians in Denmark, evolving from a Dylanesque folk-rocker in the early 1970s to a position of high regard for his frequent musicals now. And “Hvor Går Du Hen?” is mostly music, with only three lines of lyrics. Those lines translate roughly into: “Where do you go when you go home? Where do you go when you leave here? Where do you go when you go away?” It’s a lovely piece of work.

(Instead of posting thirteen individual links for the songs, I’ve decided to put all the mp3’s into a zip folder and post just one link.)

“We” by Shawn Phillips from Faces

“I’ll Be Around” by the Spinners, Atlantic single 2904

“Anyway” by Manassas from Manassas

“Who Is He And What Is He To You?” by Bill Withers from Still Bill

“Jazzman” by Pure Prairie League from Bustin’ Out

“Parasite” by Nick Drake from Pink Moon

“I Won’t Be Hangin’ ’Round” by Linda Ronstadt from Linda Ronstadt

“Hvor Går Du Hen?” by Sebastian from Den Store Flugt (Danish)

“Thinking Of You” by Tracy Nelson & Mother Earth from Tracy Nelson/Mother Earth

“I Just Want To See His Face” by the Rolling Stones from Exile On Main Street

“Lo & Behold” by Cold Blood from First Taste of Sin

“Stage Fright” by The Band from Rock of Ages

“Baby, I’m-A Want You” by Bread from Baby, I’m-A Want You

* As it turns out, the single was actually released in 1972, like the album, but for some reason, it did not show up in the student union jukebox until the autumn of 1974.

On The ‘Lost Horizon’

April 18, 2011

Originally posted February 2, 2007

Lost Horizon, a 1973 film, was a remake as a musical of an earlier version made in the 1930s, I believe. And from what I understand/remember, the new film tanked, badly. I’ve never seen it, and I wasn’t in the U.S. when it came out, so I’ve never had the chance.

Oh, I suppose it’s out on DVD now and I could get it without too much trouble. But from what I understand, it’s not worth even that much effort.

Portions of the soundtrack, however, may be a different story. I’ve seen raves for the soundtrack on various blogs that consider such matters; I’ve also seem some real savage reviews. In any case, the vocal version of the theme song was performed by Shawn Phillips, owner of one of my favorite voices. The theme – like the entire score – was a Burt Bacharach/Hal David composition, which may or may not be to everyone’s taste.

But with Shawn singing it, it at least sounds good.

Shawn Phillips – “Lost Horizon” [1973]